


World, End

by anenigmaticsmile



Series: Seventeen Years [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Dragon Age Quest: The Battle of Denerim, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 09:40:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15927788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anenigmaticsmile/pseuds/anenigmaticsmile
Summary: Natia Brosca was only seventeen when the world ended.





	World, End

Natia Brosca was only seventeen when her whole world ended.

We’ve discussed this.

But we didn’t see what it looked like.

The world ending looked like an inky black sky that could have been mistaken for the cavern ceiling if her hands didn’t shake so much from the cold.

The world ending looked like burns on her already-dark skin that hurt like hell and she should have realized that a new home meant new brands.

The world ending looked like walking into a clearing only to be ambushed, and blades flashing and singing – and then pausing, because neither of the wielders cared to live.  The world ending looked like a friend at the edge of the fire, with a tattooed face that she would never admit made her feel at home.

It looked like a child on a rooftop with a whole world at her back as she fired arrows into the sky and hoped like hell they would land true.  A child with a child’s braid tight to her head, armor too-big even though it was custom fit.  Skin dark and hair darker, light trapped in the shine of her piercings and the flicker of her eyes.  A dragon falling from the sky and a Warden seizing her blade and _knowing_ that it would save them all.  (But she was eighteen now, and no longer a child.)

The world ending looked like a lot of things, but it felt like this:  
     a heart, pounding in a chest far too small as her head started to spin and she gasped for air  
     blades, solid and sure and cold in hands far too trained and almost – nearly – too small  
     _thunk_ , as the blades struck true, sank deep  
     heat, blood boiling as the essence of the Archdemon ran up her small frame, fried her alive  
     and then a weak, gentle calm as it was redirected to the child inside Morrigan’s stomach.

And then it was black.

 

(Maybe Natia woke up, three days after the Archdemon fell, and maybe there was a roomful of worried faces waiting to come into focus.  Maybe there was a cool cloth over her forehead, to calm the fever, and a fire roaring in the fireplace to fight the surface’s chill.  Maybe the end of the world had been the beginning of a family.)

You can say maybe until the end of time, but that doesn’t make true. 

What is true?

The world ended.

The sun rose.


End file.
